


Bordeaux and Black Cherry

by KaticaLocke



Series: Silk Stockings [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 14:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaticaLocke/pseuds/KaticaLocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a month of waiting for Finch to make a move, Reese takes matters into his own hands. Sequel to Silk Stockings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bordeaux and Black Cherry

Reese was frustrated. Nearly a month had passed since that glorious night with Finch, and aside from the occasional sideways glance or thoughtful stare, it was like it had never even happened. Reese figured Finch needed time to sort out his feelings, but a month? Reese had jerked off every night for two weeks thinking about what they'd done, his body aching to feel Finch's touch again. Did the man have no drive, no desire for him at all? Reese couldn't bear to think about it. If that was Finch's choice, he would do his damnedest to respect it, but at the moment, no choice appeared to have been made. They were just hanging in limbo, and it was driving Reese crazy.

The Numbers kept coming, some easy, some hard, some good guys, some bad. It was a welcome distraction, but even that couldn't last. Finally, exactly one month since their first encounter and the third day without a new Number, Reese couldn't take it anymore. He was sitting in a cafe near his apartment, drinking coffee and trying to resist the urge to go to the library and jump his boss. His cell sat on the table in front of him, the screen dark, but he just couldn't stop staring at it, as though he could will it into coughing up a message from Finch.

"Well, this is a first."

Reese tensed, ready to fling his hot coffee into someone's face or smash the cup against their skull, his training and instincts kicking in in a fraction of the time it took him to recognize the voice. He managed to refrain from assaulting Detective Fusco with his beverage, glowering over his cup at the man as he sat down across from Reese.

"Never thought I'd get the drop on you again," Fusco said. "You hung-over or somethin'?"

Reese ignored the question, glancing down at his phone again. "What do you want, Lionel?" he asked, managing to sound both bored and pissed off at the same time.

"I thought you might buy me that drink you keep offering," Fusco said. "I've got news about HR."

Reese wasn't really in the mood, but he glanced over his shoulder, getting the waitress' attention.

"What can I get you, hun?" she asked.

"Coffee for my friend," Reese said, and checked his cell again.

"Cream?"

"No thanks," Fusco said. "But I will have a shortstack of pancakes and a side of bacon."

"You got it, hun," she said, making a note on her pad as she walked away.

Reese gave Fusco a dirty look. "I'm not paying for your breakfast."

"I can buy my own breakfast, thank you," Fusco replied. "Since you got me into HR, they've been throwing a lot of side-work my way, and the pay sure beats being an honest cop. Now I remember why I went dirty in the first place."

Reese was pretty sure Fusco was being sarcastic. "Lionel, you can't take that money. If you do, your hands will look just as dirty as theirs."

"And if I don't, they'll get suspicious and put a bullet in the back of my head."

"Life is filled with tough choices." They fell silent as the waitress returned, pouring Fusco a cup of coffee and giving Reese a warm-up.

After she'd left, Fusco leaned forward, speaking a confidential tone as he added sugar to his coffee. "I ain't spent a cent of it. When this is all over, I'll be more than happy to give it all back." He took a sip. "Any idea when that might be?"

"Nope." Reese picked up his cell, checking the history to make sure he hadn't missed a call. He hadn't.

Fusco sighed and glanced around the cafe. "So, what are you and Finch up to? Which one of these poor bastards do you got your eye on?"

"Can't a guy just get a cup of coffee?" Reese asked. Across the room, someone's cell made a sound and he automatically reached for his, but it was still dark. He frowned and looked out the window.

"What's the matter - you waiting for a call?" Fusco asked.

"Not really." Reese took another drink and prepared to leave.

"Ah, I know," Fusco said. Reese highly doubted it. "You got girl trouble." Reese gave him a dark look, but Fusco just chuckled. "Yeah, I see how it is. You met this girl and she's like nobody you've ever met before, and the two of you had an amazing night, best night of your life, and now you want to call her, but you don't want to seem needy. Or you did call her, and she ain't called you back. Am I close?"

"Close enough," Reese said, sitting back in his seat and picking up his cup again. God, what had he been reduced to, drinking coffee with Fusco and bitching about his love-life?

"You want my advice? Call her," Fusco said before Reese could interject that he did not, in fact, want any advice. "If this woman is hot enough to get _you_ all tangled up, you can't let her get away."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Always is."

"We...we sort of...work together," Reese said, knowing that Fusco would probably be compiling a very short list and hopefully coming to the wrong conclusion. After a moment, Fusco arched an eyebrow and gave Reese a sly, sideways sort of look.

"Really? Anyone I know?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Reese said, unable to stop himself from checking his phone again. This was ridiculous.

" _Call her_ ," Fusco said again as his order arrived. Reese watched him pour syrup over his pancakes and pick up his fork. That was his cue to leave; the last thing he wanted was to watch Fusco eat. He started to slide out of the booth, but hesitated.

"What does it matter to you if I call her or not?"

Fusco shrugged. "I s'pose it doesn't," he said, taking a bite of his bacon, "but I noticed you didn't choke this time when you called me _friend_. And maybe if Carter gets laid, she'll quit giving me such a hard time about everything." Reese kept his expression carefully neutral, neither confirming nor denying Fusco's suspicions. After a moment, Fusco waved a hand dismissively. "Fine, be that way. I'll just ask Carter."

"Good luck with that," Reese said, unable to suppress a chuckle as he imagined Carter's expression. He slid out of the booth, picked up his phone, and pulled a wadded up twenty out of his pocket, dropping it on the table. "Enjoy your breakfast, Lionel," he said, giving the detective a hearty thump on the back as he left, almost spilling his coffee.

Outside, he started walking back to his loft, though he initially headed in the opposite direction. He wound his way up and down the busy streets, checking for tails in the reflection of store windows, entering a bookstore and slipping unnoticed out the back, jogging down a long, narrow alleyway and emerging into the wan sunlight on a quiet street. He checked for traffic, then crossed over to his building.

Once inside, he started the coffee brewing, not because he wanted any but because if he didn't do something constructive he'd end up pacing. He ended up pacing anyway as the coffeemaker percolated in the background. Finally, he sank down on his sofa, pulled out his phone, and sighed. Maybe Fusco was right - maybe he should just call Finch and get this over with. At least if Finch flat out told him that it was never going to happen, he could quit wondering. He pulled up Finch's number, but hesitated. What would he say?

Maybe he didn't need to say anything. Instead, he sent a text, just a simple _My place, 10 pm._ He waited for a response, an acknowledgement, but his phone remained silent. He decided to believe that the silence was an answer in itself. If Finch wasn't coming, he'd let Reese know. To stand him up would be rude, and Finch was anything but rude. With that in mind, Reese poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his jacket, and headed out. He had shopping to do.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It took him most of the day to find what he was looking for, but that still left him with way too much time to kill. He cleaned a little, changed his clothes, placed the items he'd purchased in strategic locations, picked at his dinner, changed his clothes again, reconsidered this whole insane idea, took a shower, and changed his clothes for a third time. He wondered if Finch had any idea how crazy he made Reese.

He was standing at the window, staring down at the dark street below, when the long, black town car pulled up at the curb and Finch climbed out of the back. Reese breathed a sigh of relief that fogged up the cool window glass.

Grinning like a fool, he quickly lowered the heavy shades over the windows and adjusted the lighting, turning it down so they wouldn't be backlit, silhouetted against the shades. He checked his hair in the mirror, adjusted his slacks, and made sure all the buttons on his shirt were done up, all except for the top three at the collar. He went back to the window and peeked out around the shade. The town car was gone. Heart pounding in his chest, he headed for the door, then stopped himself, wiping his sweaty palms on the seat of his pants. God, he hadn't felt this nervous since he'd tried to work up the courage to ask Jessica out.

Actually, no - he'd been more nervous the night he met Stanton, but that was a different kind of nerves, the kind that stems from not knowing if you're going to make it out of a situation alive. He supposed that fit, too, though. He'd been lucky Finch hadn't decided to fire him after what he'd done, and if he screwed this up...

Reese glanced at his watch and frowned. The car had pulled up almost fifteen minutes ago. It was after ten. Where was Finch? He took a step toward the door, but stopped, a hollowness opening up in the pit of his stomach. What if Finch had changed his mind? Reese hadn't been watching. He could have gotten back in the car and left.

Reese stalked over to the counter where his cell was charging and checked his messages. Nothing. He hesitated a moment, then typed _Where are you?_ and sent it. He set the cell down, running a hand back through his hair as he turned away. The phone beeped, alerting him to an incoming text and he snatched it up.

_In the hall._

Reese frowned and glanced toward his door. _Why?_

 _Nervous,_ came the reply, along with a sad face. Reese found himself smiling at the simple yet evocative use of the colon and open parenthesis.

 _Me too,_ Reese sent back. _Afraid you wouldn't come._

_I want this. Want you. Just a little scared. First time._

As he typed, Reese made his way over to the door, leaning against the reinforced steel. _I know. I'll be gentle. Want you to enjoy it._ He rested his head against the door and sighed. _Want to come in now?_

_Yes._

Reese put the phone in his pocket and unlocked the door before pulling it open. Finch stood there, his face red, his eyes wide, a visible tremor shaking him as he limped into the loft.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," Finch said. He was carrying an expensive-looking, brushed suede satchel, which he clutched in both white-knuckled hands.

"That's all right," Reese said, closing the door. The noise made Finch jump. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Thank you." He took a step toward one of Reese's lounge chairs, then stopped and turned toward the sofa. He glanced at the bed, his face reddening, and turned back to the sofa. He sank down not quite in the middle and set his satchel on the floor beside his feet. His fingers plucked at imaginary lint on his trousers, his throat working convulsively as he tried to swallow.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Reese offered.

Finch gave his head a small shake, but said, "Water, or whatever you have."

"I _have_ a forty-year old bottle of scotch," Reese said, arching an eyebrow.

Finch seemed to hesitate. "I don't normally, but...I think I probably should."

"I agree," Reese said, crossing into the kitchen area and taking the bottle down out of a cupboard, along with two thick-bottomed tumblers. He poured each of them a drink, then put the bottle away. He wanted Finch to relax, not get drunk and pass out. Moving slowly, he walked over to Finch, handed him the glass, and sat down beside him on the sofa, careful to leave almost a foot of neutral space between them. Reese sipped his drink and watched Finch gulp his, swallowing it down like it was cough medicine. Finch stared down at the empty glass, taking deliberately slow, deep breaths.

"Harold," Reese said softly, but Finch tensed as though Reese had shouted at him. "If you don't want to do this-"

"I do," Finch said quickly. "I do. I just..."

"It's your first time."

Finch nodded.

"I won't hurt you," Reese whispered. God, he just wanted to hold the man, to comfort and reassure him.

"I- I know you won't," Finch said, still looking down at the tumbler in his hands. "It's just...my neck and my hip...and I'm more than few years older than you and...and I don't have any experience. I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want you to be disappointed..."

Reese swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and reached over, taking the glass from Finch. He set it and his own on the hardwood floor, then leaned close, one hand cupping Finch's cheek as he kissed him, just a tender brush of the lips.

"You could never disappoint me," Reese said. "Whatever we do or don't do will be completely up to you. I'm just happy that you're here."

"Do you have a list of options?" Finch asked. "Because frankly, I don't even know where to begin."

"That's okay," Reese said. "I do. And the rest we can figure out together." He kissed him again and this time, Finch reciprocated. Reese drew back, picked up the tumblers off the floor, and stood. "All right, I want you to go into the bathroom and take off your shoes, socks, and pants. There's a robe hanging on the back of the door for you."

"Just my pants?" Finch asked, arching an eyebrow as he rose from the sofa.

"For now," Reese said with a crooked smile. "Unless you want to take it all off. Your choice." Finch looked uncertain, but he headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese immediately kicked off his shoes and removed his socks, rolling up his sleeves as he padded barefoot across the room to the kitchen. From under the sink, he pulled a plastic basin. He filled it halfway with hot water, sprinkled in some lavender-scented bath salts and added a splash of rose oil. He carried it over to the sofa and placed it on a towel on the floor. Behind the couch, he had hidden a small paper bag from Bed, Bath & Beyond, filled with various tools and implements for this particular ice-breaking activity.

Finch was in the bathroom so long, if it had had a window, Reese would have started to suspect Finch had crawled through it and made a run for it. Finally, the door opened and Finch limped out, wrapped in the new burgundy robe Reese had bought for him. Reese could see his bare legs beneath the robe, but whatever else he might or might not have on was a mystery. One that Reese would solve in due time, but not yet, Reese reminded himself. He beckoned Finch over.

"What is this?" Finch asked, stopping beside the basin and regarding it with a slight frown.

"Well, while I was shaving your legs that night, I couldn't help but notice that your feet could use some TLC as well. So I'm going to give you a pedicure and a foot massage."

"Oh, John," Finch said, his cheeks turning pink as he huffed indignantly.

"C'mon, step into the water," Reese said. "Or would you rather go straight to the bed?" Reese had never seen Finch move so fast. In a moment, he was standing ankle-deep in the hot water, a reaction that Reese found oddly endearing. Finch sat down on the sofa, primly pulling his robe closed over his thighs, making Reese wonder what, if anything, he was wearing underneath. Boxers? Briefs? Those lacy silk panties he'd worn with Reese? Reese felt himself getting hard and quickly pushed the thought aside. Finch needed his undivided attention.

Kneeling down, Reese ran a hand up one of Finch's shins, feeling the dark stubble against his palm, about a month's worth of growth, he guessed. "Would you mind if I shaved your legs again while your feet soak?"

"You don't have to," Finch said quietly, unable to meet Reese's gaze. Reese put his hand on Finch's knee, waiting until the older man looked at him.

"I _want_ to," he said. "Even if it's not a particular turn-on for me, I want to be a part of whatever turns _you_ on. And to be honest, I did enjoy it."

"Well...all right, then," Finch said, though he still looked embarrassed as hell. Reese smiled and dug into the bag, pulling out a washcloth, a new razor, and a can of raspberry-scented shaving foam. After wetting one of Finch's legs with the cloth, he spread the foam over his skin and went to work. When he was done, he used the cloth to wash off the foam residue, then did the other leg.

"There; all done," Reese said, gathering up the supplies and taking them in to the kitchen sink. When he came back, Finch was leaned forward, one hand gliding up and down his smooth shin, his lips parted slightly, a blissful look on his face. He caught Reese watching him and quickly sat back, folding his hands in his lap again. "It's okay to touch them," Reese murmured teasingly, kneeling down again. He reached out, trailing his fingers over Finch's knee, down the curve of his calf, to where his ankle disappeared into the water, making Finch draw a shaking breath. "Is that someplace you like to be touched?" Reese asked, all teasing aside.

Finch nodded and Reese gently stroked back up his leg, Finch swallowing hard and shifting slightly on the couch.

"I'll keep that in mind," Reese promised. "For now, your feet." He lifted the first out of the water and set it on the towel, patting it dry before reaching into the bag for a pumice stone. He rubbed at the calluses, the thick skin sloughing off, leaving Finch's feet slightly pink in places, but much softer. Reese pulled clippers and a file out of the bag, clipped each nail, filed them, and pushed back his cuticles. Next, he fished out a tube of moisturizing foot lotion and massaged it into Finch's skin, his strong thumbs rubbing circles against the arch that had Finch leaning back on the sofa and groaning with pleasure. He did the same for the other foot, finding calluses in strange places thanks to Finch's limp. Finch was almost catatonic - if he'd been a cat, he'd have been purring - and didn't move when Reese finally set his foot down on the towel.

"I'll be right back," Reese said, climbing to his feet and picking up the basin of now cold water. "Don't go anywhere." Finch made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan, and Reese grinned to himself as he carried the basin to the kitchen and dumped it in the sink. He wasn't worried about Finch falling asleep. He had one more surprise in that bag.

"Harold, I need you to spread your legs," Reese said, going to his knees again in front of the older man. Finch's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking uneasy as Reese's hands slid up his legs, trying to coax them apart.

"Now?" Finch asked, hands clutching at the bottom of his robe to keep it closed.

"No, not that," Reese said with a chuckle. "Just open your legs and lift your good one up a bit." Finch looked confused, but he did as Reese asked. Sliding between Finch's legs, Reese sat on the floor with his back to the sofa and let Finch's knee rest on his shoulder, his foot on Reese's thigh. He reached over, taking Finch's damaged leg in hand and carefully lifting it into place on the other shoulder.

"This is...an interesting position you have us in, Mr. Reese," Finch said. "I'm not sure I understand how this is supposed to work."

"It's simple," Reese said, pulling the bag closer and pulling out a pair of pink, foam toe separators. "You sit there and I sit here while I paint your toenails." He tried to work the foam in between Finch's toes, but Finch twitched his foot away, his toes curling.

"I beg your pardon? You're going to do what?"

"Paint your nails," Reese said again, as though it were no big deal. "I figured you'd have trouble doing it yourself. Now relax your feet or you'll undo all the good I did with that massage."

"But John-" Finch started, only to fall silent as Reese slid a hand over the curve of his calf, caressing the smooth skin down to the back of his ankle.

"Do you _not_ want your toenails painted?" Reese asked, his voice soft. "I thought it would be a good place to start, something intimate without being strictly sexual, but if you don't want me to-"

"I- I would," Finch said, "I just...I can't believe you went through all this trouble...for me."

"It _was_ a lot of trouble," Reese said, stroking the top of Finch's foot. "You wouldn't believe how many shops I visited to find all this stuff, all the weird looks I got, but you know what? I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it would make you happy."

"Oh, John..." Finch whispered, his toes uncurling. Reese eased the foam between them, then reached into the bag for the last three items.

"I wasn't sure what color you'd like, so I bought a couple. This one is called _First Kiss_." He held up a bottle of pearly pink polish for Finch to see. The older man didn't comment and after a moment Reese brought it back down. "This one is _Bordeaux_." He held up the bottle of rich burgundy. "And this one is _Black Cherry_." He showed Finch the dark, dark red. "Do you have a preference?"

" _Bordeaux_ ," Finch replied without hesitation and Reese grinned. The second his gaze had stopped on the dark little bottle, he'd known it was Finch. He had bought the other two as an afterthought, just in case he was wrong. He gave the bottle a shake and twisted it open, scraping the excess polish off on the inside edge of the bottle before painting a rich, glossy stripe up the center of Finch's big toenail. "Yes, that's lovely," Finch said, looking over his shoulder. "The pink wouldn't have shown up very well and the red is too dark for my skin tone. It would look good next to yours, though."

Reese paused, considering. Why the hell not? "Sure," he said with a grin. "You can paint mine when I'm done with yours."

"That's not- I didn't- I was just-"

"Take a breath, Harold," Reese said with a chuckle. "This is supposed to be relaxing. So relax. Tonight is about exploring new things and pushing our boundaries, and that goes for me, too." Finch didn't answer, but neither did he argue, so Reese counted it as a win. He turned his attention back to Finch's toes, applying the polish with slow, smooth strokes.

"Have you done this before?" Finch asked, still watching over Reese's shoulder.

"A couple of times," Reese said, dipping the brush back into the bottle. "Jessica."

"Ah."

After a moment, Reese felt Finch lean back, the muscles in his legs slowly relaxing. Reese finished with the first foot and put the lid back on the nail polish, setting it aside as he took Finch's foot in both hands and began to run his thumbs up and down the top of Finch's foot, his fingertips pressing into the arch. Behind him, Finch groaned.

With a mischievous smirk, Reese turned his head, regarding Finch's leg hooked over his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the soft skin in the crook of his knee.

"Oh!" Finch gasped, then added, almost shyly, "I- I like that." Wanting to encourage more sharing, Reese kissed him again, slow and lingering, letting his lips caress Finch's skin, the scent of raspberries tickling his nose. Sliding one hand up Finch's leg, he parted his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the crook of Finch's knee, making him shiver and squirm. Trying for a more verbal reaction, Reese opened his mouth wider, teeth scraping flesh as he licked and sucked, intent upon leaving his mark on the fair skin.

"Good grief, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding out of breath, his voice strained. "If you keep that up, your robe will need to be laundered."

Reese smiled against the side of Finch's knee, pleased that he was having such an effect on the man, and scaled back his efforts, trailing his fingertips up and down Finch's leg as he softly kissed the inside of his knee. "So," he said after a moment, "I thought it might be a good idea to discuss our preferences beforehand, so things don't get awkward or uncomfortable after we start."

"That's very practical of you."

"I thought you might appreciate that," Reese said and nuzzled the back of Finch's calf. "Would you like to go first?"

"I...I don't have any preferences," Finch said. "I mean, I'm sure I do, but I don't know what they are."

"All right, I'll start," Reese said. "Main one - top or bottom? I've been both. I'm a tender top, but a demanding bottom, so if you want to fuck me, you better be ready to ride me hard and leave me in need of that cushion you bought me after I was shot, and if your hip can't tolerate such strenuous activity, I'll buy you a big rubber cock and you can drill my ass with it." He paused, lips hovering over Finch's skin, waiting for a reaction.

"Well," Finch said, his voice strained, "that was certainly...candid. And graphic."

"No sense in being less than honest with each other," Reese said. "I will always tell you what I want, and I hope you'll feel comfortable enough to do the same."

"And if I _can't_ give you what you want, if I'm not capable, what then?"

"Do you really think I'd leave you if you couldn't fuck me senseless?" Reese asked, looking back over his shoulder. "I'm not unreasonable, Harold. I'll be happy with anything you can give me. I just want you to know the things that I would like."

Finch made a quiet, thoughtful sound, but that was all.

After a moment, Reese asked, "So, what about you? Top or bottom?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Well, think about it. Would you rather I hold you in my arms, kissing you as I fill you with my hard cock, or do you want to pin me against the sheets, my helpless cries of pleasure filling the room as you pound into my tight ass until you explode inside me? Which of those sounds like more fun to you?"

"Good Lord, John!" Finch exclaimed. "Are you trying to make me..." He seemed to struggle for the words. "Lose my dignity?"

"I _do_ know my way around a washing machine," Reese teased, returning to mouthing the crease behind Finch's knee.

"I believe my toes are dry now," Finch said, pulling away slightly. Reese backed off, turning his attention to the dark, glossy burgundy toenails. He blew gently on the polish, just to be sure, before reaching down and touching a fingertip to one toenail.

"You're right, although you'll need to be careful until the polish sets." He eased the foam spacer out from between Finch's toes and moved it to the other foot. "I thought we could use the second one of these for me," he explained. "Not that I think you have athlete's foot or anything - _I_ wouldn't care, but I thought you might."

"Yes, I can be rather particular about hygiene," Finch said, his dry voice washing over the back of Reese's neck. "Are you certain you want to put up with me?"

"Harold, there's nothing you could do that would drive me away. So don't even try," he added with a laugh. He gave the bottle of nail polish a shake and began painting the other foot. When he was finished, he carefully lowered Finch's legs and stood up. He stretched, rolling his neck and shoulders before picking up the bottle of deep, dark red and climbing onto the couch. He sat against the arm, his legs stretched across the seat, his feet in Finch's lap. Finch stiffened as Reese's heels nudged a part of his anatomy that was already pretty stiff, and Reese couldn't repress his mischievous nature. He handed Finch the bottle of polish and the toe separator, smirking as he rubbed the side of one foot against Finch's erection.

"You're going to wind up with painted toe knuckles if you keep that up," Finch admonished, shifting Reese's feet a little farther from his crotch. Reese just smiled and leaned back against the arm of the sofa, resting his head on the back as he watched Finch. The polish felt cold on his toenails, but he wasn't really interested in that. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the older man, captivated by the small frown that creased his brow, the intensity in his stare, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

When Finch had finished with the first foot, he twisted the lid back on the bottle and balanced it on the arm of the couch. He stared down at Reese's feet, one hand resting lightly on Reese's ankle, his fingers tapping absently against his skin.

"Something on your mind?" Reese asked after several minutes of thoughtful silence.

Finch gave his head one small nod. "I...I think..." Reese braced himself, ready for the worst. "I think I might like to suck your cock, Mr. Reese."

Reese gasped, Finch's words eliciting a shudder that shook him to his core and almost caused a mess in his trousers.

Finch glanced over at him, his face red. "I was thinking about what you said about preferences, and I think that is something I'd like to try. If you want me to, that is."

"Want you to?" Reese repeated, breathless. "Just hearing you say it almost made me come." Finch looked embarrassed, but a pleased little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Since we're on the subject, how do you feel about me coming in your mouth?"

"Oh, I- I don't know," Finch said. "What does it taste like?"

"Mine? Or semen in general?"

"In general, I suppose."

"You've never-"

"I told you, I haven't-"

"But not even your own?"

Finch gave him a _Why the hell would I do that?_ sort of look. "No, I haven't."

"Well," Reese said, "it's sort of...salty, and a little bitter sometimes. I knew one guy who tasted faintly of almonds."

"Oh," Finch said and a slight frown creased his brow. "I never really thought about you with other men."

"There were a few," Reese said, watching him closely. "Does it make you jealous?"

"No," Finch replied with a snort of contempt.

"Too bad. I think I might like you jealous."

Finch gave him a quick glance, another small smile quirking the corner of his mouth as he looked away.

"What about that thing I did to you that first night, licking you _back there_ ," he said with a slight nod to Finch's rear, because he thought the phrase 'tongue-fucking your asshole' might be a bit too much for Finch to handle. "It's called rimming, by the way."

"I- I couldn't do that," Finch said, shaking his head. Then he glanced over at Reese. "I mean, I could try, if you wanted me to..."

"No," Reese said. "I'm not going to ask you to do anything that you _don't_ want to do. Really, there are only three things that I need from you; the rest is negotiable."

"What things?"

"I need to be kissed," Reese said. "I love kissing. And I need to be held. I won't completely smother you, but I do crave physical contact."

"All right," Finch said. "I think I can manage that. And the third thing?"

"I need to feel your cock inside me. What I said about fucking me hard - that's optional, but I need to know you're willing to top once in a while, even if all you do is lie there and let me sit on your dick."

"What _colorful_ language you have," Finch said, his whole face turning the same shade as his burgundy bathrobe. "Yes, if this battered body can physically manage, I am willing."

"Good," Reese said with a smile. "And what do you need from me?"

"Discretion," Finch said immediately, and then seemed to regret it. "Not that I think you're a gossip, but you _do_ enjoy teasing me, and I just need to know that certain things will be off-limits."

"Of course, Harold," Reese said. "This is our secret. I don't want to share it with anyone else."

"All right. I guess I need your patience as well. This is very new to me. Please don't be disappointed if-"

"Never," Reese said. "You could never disappoint me. Ever since you told me you were a virgin, I can't stop thinking about all the things I want to do to you, all the things I want to show you, all the ways I want to please you. Believe me, I will not be disappointed."

"That's what I'm talking about," Finch said, glancing over at him. "What if I can't live up to this idealized virgin you've created?"

"Harold, fantasies are always flashier and more glamorous than reality, but they have no substance. You can't hold them, you can't taste them. I would rather have the most boring reality than the most perfect fantasy."

"Well, that's what you're getting," Finch said. "Boring reality."

Reese chuckled. "I think you'll surprise yourself, my little bird."

Finch gave him a funny look.

"What?" Reese said with a one-shoulder shrug. "So I've spent some time considering terms of endearment. _Little bird_ sounded better than _pumpkin_ or _snookums_."

Finch snorted with laughter. "By all means, if you must, little bird is clearly the best choice. And what should I call you?"

"I don't care, just _call me_. Although I wouldn't be opposed to John, God of Sex or Love Machine." That made Finch laugh again, which gave Reese an unexpected feeling, like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It had been a long time and was something he'd never expected to feel again. He gazed at Finch, a slow, contented smile creeping across his face.

"I think you're dry," Finch said, testing the polish on Reese's toes. He switched the toe separator to the other foot and got to work. Finished, he leaned back against the couch with a sigh.

"Neck hurt?" Reese asked, lifting his feet out of Finch's lap and carefully swinging them around to rest on the floor.

"A little," Finch said. "It always hurts after a long day."

Careful not to smudge his shiny red toes, Reese shifted closer to Finch, his heel bumping against the black suede satchel leaning against the front of the sofa. "What's in the bag?" Reese asked.

"A surprise," Finch said, suddenly blushing again.

Reese arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I have a few of those hidden around here, too. When do I get to see the surprise?"

"I could show you now...if you want," Finch said, and it was all Reese could do not to throw himself at the adorably shy man.

"Not just yet," Reese said, his voice low and husky. "Kiss me first."

"Oh...um...okay," Finch said, shifting his stiff upper body to face Reese. Reese leaned slowly toward him, noting his nervous fidgeting. Their lips met and a soft moan escaped him. One hand rising up to cup Finch's face, he deepened the kiss, his tongue flirting against Finch's, trying to coax him into reciprocating. After a moment, he felt Finch's tongue slide over his, sending a shiver racing through him. Drawing back, he gasped for breath.

"May I have my surprise now?" he asked playfully. Finch nodded, seemingly unable to speak, and stood up, taking an awkward step as he realized he still had the spacer between his toes. Reese leaned down and removed it, dropping it back into the empty paper bag on the floor. Finch picked up his satchel and headed for the bathroom.

"I'll be right back," he said, and shut the door.

Twenty minutes later, Reese's toenails were dry and he was anxiously pacing in front of the couch. He'd already gone to the door twice to ask if Finch was okay. Both times he'd been sent away with the assurance that Finch was 'almost ready'. There was a rather curious and uneven _click click...click click_ sound emanating from the bathroom as well. Remembering that Finch had asked for his patience, he forced himself to sit back down to wait, only to spring up as the bathroom door opened.

His heart skipped a beat as Finch slowly made his way out, a pair of white high heels making the mysterious clicking sound. He must have been practicing. It helped - he didn't wobble, even with his limp. Smooth, shapely legs rose up from the heels, wrapped in dark burgundy fishnet stockings. Holding them up were white lace garters, and above that was a pair of white silk panties, Finch's hard cock clearly defined beneath the thin material. He wore a short, white silk camisole with a knee-length, sheer white robe over everything, but it was _so_ sheer, it didn't conceal much. The robe was trimmed with soft burgundy feathers that fluttered as Finch moved and matched his dark lipstick. The rest of his make-up was like before, elegant and understated, and Reese simply couldn't stop staring. Only an insistent twitch from his neglected cock snapped him out of it.

"Oh, my God, Harold," he whispered. "You are absolutely...beautiful."

Finch blushed, but his dark lips quirked into that little pleased smile that Reese loved so much. "There's one more surprise," he said. Stepping carefully, he turned his back and swept his robe to the side, revealing letters embroidered in burgundy across his rounded ass - _Property of John Reese_.

Reese groaned and absently adjusted his aching cock. "I want you so much right now," he said, but he refrained from rushing across the room, with some difficulty.

Finch turned back around, letting his robe fall into place, and nervously licked his lips. "You- you can have me, John," he said breathlessly. Reese moved toward him, bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor, until he stood before Finch, close enough to touch, but not touching him. Even with the heels on, Finch was still an inch or two shorter than Reese. Reese looked him over once more, from head to foot, and he smiled.

"Love the shoes, Harold," he said. "They do such wonderful things for your legs - accentuating the muscles and tightening your ass."

"I'm glad," Finch said. "They're a nightmare to walk in. I don't know how women do it."

"Lots of practice, I'm sure," Reese said. He started to lean in and kiss Finch, but hesitated. "I don't want to smear your lipstick."

"You're not the only one who went shopping this afternoon," Finch said, reaching up and running a fingertip along his lower lip. "I thought something a bit more durable would be prudent."

Reese needed no further convincing. Lips parted, he pressed them to Finch's, surprised to feel Finch's tongue slip into his mouth. He moaned softly, licking against the exploring muscle, his eyes sliding shut as they tasted each other, deep wet kisses that left them both out of breath. It was Finch who drew back first, his face flushed as he turned his attention to the buttons on Reese's shirt, agile fingers making quick work of them. Reese shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, his heart pounding as Finch then went to work on his belt, but when Finch began to lower his zipper, he had to take a hasty step back, his body shuddering as he fought back the rush of orgasm.

"What is it?" Finch asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

Reese shook his head, for a moment just working on keeping his breathing even. "No, Harold," he said finally. "You've done everything right. So right, in fact, that I'm ready to blow at the slightest provocation. So don't do or say anything sexy, unless you want me to come in my trousers."

Finch flushed. "No, I- I wouldn't want that." Then a flicker of mischief glinted in his blue gray eyes. "Maybe you ought to take them off, then," he said, toeing off his high heels and slipping out of his robe. Reese glanced away, his body continuing to try and betray him. He shoved his slacks down and stepped out of them, his briefs quickly joining the pile, and he stood there, nude, waiting for Finch to look at him. Which Finch didn't.

"Have a seat on the edge of the bed, Mr. Reese," Finch said, sounding much like the stuffy genius Reese was used to hearing on the other end of the phone line. Not sure if Finch was finally feeling more comfortable around him, or if he was affecting his workplace persona to mask his true feelings, Reese stepped over to the bed and sank down on the edge of the mattress, his aching cock standing at stiff attention, pressed almost flat against his stomach.

"Now close your eyes," Finch said, "and describe to me how you would field-strip a rifle."

"Not exactly the sort of pillow-talk I was expecting," Reese said, shutting his eyes. "What sort of rifle?"

"I don't care," Finch said, sounding faintly exasperated. "I just want your mind somewhere else so we don't have any untimely accidents."

"Oh," Reese said. "The M 16 rifle, then. First, lock the bolt to the rear by depressing the lever on the charging handle and pulling the charging handle all the way rearward. While holding the charging handle all the way in the rearward position, push the bottom portion of the bolt catch, located on the left side of the magazine well." He was aware of Finch doing something not too far away, but he tried to remain focused on the rifle, describing each step, each part of the weapon. He was almost finished when a soft touch against the insides of his thighs made him draw a sharp breath. "Finch?"

"You can open your eyes now," Finch said. Curiously, his voice seemed to be coming from directly in front of Reese, about three feet off the floor, but before Reese could do little more than wonder why Finch would be so close to the ground, he opened his eyes. Kneeling between his legs, was Finch, wearing a small, shy smile that made Reese's balls draw up and nearly spill their load.

" _Jesus, Harold_ ," Reese whispered, his voice hoarse.

Without preamble, Finch leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his shaft as he took Reese's cockhead into his mouth, his dark, full lips pressed tight to Reese's flesh as he sucked, his tongue flicking up and down the slit. Reese didn't have time to give a warning or even draw a bracing breath before he unloaded into Finch's mouth, coming so hard he actually felt lightheaded. Finch worked his hand up and down Reese's shaft, his tongue never ceasing its wicked movements until the final shudder of pleasure had wracked Reese's body, leaving him breathless. He watched Finch swallow and draw back, licking traces of white from his lips.

"Interesting texture," Finch said, "and not as bitter as I expected. Still, not exactly a glass of _Chateau Le Pin Pomerol_."

Reese gave a breathless chuckle. "The day it is, I should probably see a doctor. Are you sure that was your first time?"

Finch nodded.

"Well, you're a natural. That was the best blow-job I've ever had."

The older man blushed like a teenage girl. "I did have a bit of help," he confessed. "I used my phone to Google techniques while I was in the bathroom."

"Is that why you were so hard when you came out?" Reese teased, getting his second wind back. "Your cock was about ready to rip through those silky little panties of yours." He glanced down between Finch's thighs. "Looks like it still is. How about you come up here and let me take care of you now?"

"Didn't I hear you say that you also had a surprise for me?" Finch asked, bracing one hand on the edge of the bed to help himself up off the floor.

"That's right, I do," Reese said, watching him tug up his burgundy fishnets and straighten the garters. He seemed so much more relaxed, comfortable, and it was a sight that warmed Reese's heart.

"What is it?"

"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore, now would it?"

And just like that, the wary suspicion was back, just a shadow in Finch's eyes, a slight thinning of his lips, a tenseness that drew his shoulders back. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed beside Reese, absently smoothing the front of his silk camisole, the room thick with unspoken questions.

Reese sighed. "Do you really think that I could ever hurt you, Harold?"

"No, John! Of course not, it's just..." He didn't seem to know how to finish the sentence.

"Old habits," Reese said softly and Finch nodded. "Can we try, though? Even if it is difficult for you, will you let me surprise you?"

Finch hesitated, then nodded again. "I'll try."

Reese smiled and leaned over, tasting his own musky flavor as he kissed those soft, dark lips. He groaned low in his throat, easing his tongue into Finch's mouth as he shifted on the bed, nudging Finch farther back onto the mattress. Reese supported his neck, both of them adjusting pillows as Finch stretched out beneath him. Once he was comfortable, Reese drew back, admiring the view one last time. "Damn, you look good," he said and smiled as Finch colored. "Don't move."

Reese hurried to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube and a rolled up hand towel. Finch watched nervously as Reese returned, eyeing the towel like it was a gun...or a sixteen inch rubber dildo.

"Is that the surprise?" he asked.

"That's a towel," Reese said, tossing it carelessly down onto the foot of the bed. He held up the bottle in his hand. "This is lubricant. It eases friction and makes things slide easier."

"I'm aware of the definition of lubricant, Mr. Reese," Finch said, his nervousness making him snappish. Reese refrained from teasing him further, instead sinking down onto the bed and starting to work Finch's underwear down. The older man raised his ass, though it caused a flicker of pain to dance across his face, and Reese slid the silk panties off his hips and over his stockings. He set them aside, letting his gaze rove over Finch's hard cock. Finch squirmed under his scrutiny, the motion making his cock sway back and forth, a drop of pre-come oozing from the slit, the thick fluid dangling from the tip.

"Oops, we don't want to get your clothes dirty," Reese said, reaching back and grabbing the towel. He let it unroll, paying no attention to the slender item that fell out of the towel onto the bedspread. Finch, his gaze restricted by the pins in his neck, didn't notice.

Reese spread the towel over Finch's belly, smiling as his breathing grew fast in anticipation. "Just relax," Reese said, peeling off the safety plastic on the bottle of lube. "We're going to take this nice and slow, even if it takes all night. Now, if you'll just bend your knees and spread your legs a little...Not so much that hurts, though," he added as he helped Finch draw up his bad leg until both his feet were flat on the bed, his legs spread wide enough for Reese to kneel between them. "You trust me, don't you, Harold?" he asked, popping the cap off the bottle.

Finch swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. "Yes," he whispered, his voice strained.

"Good," Reese said, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Finch's knee through the fishnet. "I'm just going to finger you right now, to see how you like having something in your ass. I'm not expecting to fuck you tonight, you know. When we do that, _if_ we do that, I want it to be because you want to feel me inside of you, not because you feel like you ought to let me. And if we never get to that point...well, there are plenty of other things we can do. All right?"

"All right," Finch said, Reese's reassurance seeming to help. He took a deep breath and released it slowly, much of the tension in his body easing as he exhaled.

"This might be a little cold," Reese warned, squeezing a large dollop of lube onto the tip of his index finger. Finch cringed a little as Reese slipped his finger between the round cheeks and smeared the slippery substance across Finch's opening. Keeping an eye on Finch for signs of discomfort, he began to rub against the ring of muscle, slowly, lightly at first, feeling it twitch and flutter in response to his attention. When Finch finally relaxed, Reese drew back, adding more lube to his finger.

"Take a breath, Harold," he instructed, easing inside. He stopped as Finch tensed, clenching around him. "Does that hurt?"

Finch gave his head a slight shake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "It feels strange...and frankly, I can't understand why anyone would subject themselves to something this...undignified."

"You will," Reese assured him. With his other hand, he stroked the insides of Finch's thighs, trailing his fingers over the curve of a calf, lingering on the rounded knob of an ankle bone. Finch shuddered, a faint moan escaping him as his body relaxed. Reese slid a bit deeper, up to the second knuckle, and crooked his finger, pressing upward into Finch's body. "Tell me how this feels."

"Well, it's sort of- Oh! _Oh!_ " His whole body jerked, his heels digging into the mattress as his ass left the bed. "Wh- what the hell did you just _do?_ "

"Just a little prostate massage," Reese said, stroking his leg again as he sank back down.

Finch snorted. "I've had my prostate checked before, and it never felt like _that_."

"I should hope not," Reese said with a laugh. "Now try and stay still; I don't want to hurt your leg." Slowly, Reese worked his finger in and out of Finch's body, trying to get him used to the feeling of something moving inside him. Finch panted and made small, muffled noises, but he didn't seem to be in pain. Every now and then, Reese paused to stroke over the spongy lump just beyond the wall of Finch's rectum, making the reserved man gasp and moan every time.

"Is this all right?" Reese asked, falling into a steady rhythm, stroking Finch's sweet spot with each thrust.

"Oh...oh...oh, God, yes," Finch panted. "I had no idea it would feel like this." His legs shifted restlessly, his hips trying to rise up into each thrust, his stiff cock rocking back and forth, strings of pre-come dangling from the tip and glistening on the shaft. Reese smiled and reached out with his other hand, wrapping his fingers around Finch's cock and pumping him in time with the rhythm of his thrusts, Finch's soft, helpless cries like music to his ears. He could feel Finch tensing, his body shaking as he neared the brink, and Reese drew back, not ready for the fun to be over just yet.

"Ohh, don't stop," Finch moaned.

"Just hang on a minute," Reese said with a crooked grin. "There's an agenda here, remember? I'm going to add another finger now, so tell me if it's too uncomfortable." He drizzled more lube on his fingers and rubbed them against Finch's relaxed opening before slowly pushing inside. Finch drew a noisy breath, his muscles tightening around Reese for a moment, but then he exhaled, his grip on Reese's fingers easing. "That's very good, Harold," Reese murmured, deliberately ignoring Finch's prostate as he slowly finger-fucked his boss. "How does that feel?"

Finch just moaned. After a moment, he reached toward his neglected cock, but Reese caught his hand, stopping him.

"Just wait," he said. "It'll be worth it."

"Oh, you're going to kill me," Finch said with a groan, but he did pull his hand back, instead reaching up to pinch and twist his nipples through the thin silk of his camisole. The sight of him touching himself, his skin flushed and sweaty, the quiet whimpers and muttered obscenities that escaped his lips, made Reese's cock rise to the occasion again, but he ignored it; he couldn't afford to be distracted.

He pulled his fingers out again. "Need more lube," he said, but Finch wasn't paying attention anyway. Keeping an eye on him, Reese surreptitiously reached over and picked up the item that he'd had hidden inside the towel. Squirting lube into his hand, he thoroughly coated the bright blue silicon beads before pressing the tip to Finch's opening. "Remember how I said I had a surprise for you?" he asked.

"Y- yes," Finch said. "I thought this was it."

"No, _this_ is it," Reese replied, easing the first elongated bump inside. It wasn't much larger than the end of Reese's little finger and slid in easily. He stopped, letting Finch rest at the narrow part that connected each bead.

"What is that?" Finch asked, his body trying to pull the toy further in as he tightened his muscles. Reese gently tugged back, applying pressure to the sensitive nerves around the inside of his entrance and making him gasp.

"They're called anal beads," Reese explained. "These are slightly oval, a little soft, and very smooth - the girl at the porn store assured me they'd be perfect for a beginner-"

"John!" Finch exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "You didn't!"

"Of course I did," Reese said with an unabashed grin. "I had to make sure I did this right. I didn't want to hurt you, just drive you insane with pleasure and need."

"I'd say you succeeded," Finch said, managing to sound annoyed, even though his voice took on a strained tone as Reese gently pushed the second bead into him. "That one felt bigger."

"It was," Reese said. "They get gradually larger. The biggest one is about an inch in diameter-"

"Oh?" He sounded alarmed.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to put them all in," Reese assured him, "and even if I did, my two fingers are wider than an inch across, and you didn't have any trouble taking them."

"Oh...Yes, I suppose you're right," Finch said. " _An inch_ just sounded like a lot to fit in...back there." He even blushed as he said it. He really was just too adorable.

"Here's the next one," Reese said. Finch groaned, the muscles in his thighs tensing as Reese pushed it in. "Everything all right?"

"Yes," he panted. "I can just...feel it inside me, moving...feels strange, but...I think I like it."

"How does this feel?" Reese asked, pulling until the bead he just inserted started to emerge, then pushing it back in, in and out once, twice, three times. Finch shuddered, a long, low moan all the answer that Reese needed. "Good. Just a couple more beads and then we'll wrap things up, okay? I have a feeling you'll need some time to recuperate afterward."

"Are you...saying I'm...old, Mr. Reese?"

"Never, Mr. Finch," Reese said with a smile. "I'm saying that I'm going to fuck you with these beads until you blow like Vesuvius. I think anyone would be tired after that." Finch shuddered again, his cock twitching, and Reese carefully pushed two more beads inside of him. "There we are. There's only three more, but I think we'll save that for another time. How do you feel?"

"Full," Finch said, then he drew a sudden breath and shivered. "When I tighten the sphincter muscle, the beads press against my prostate." Reese watched the puckered entrance clench around the toy, watched the shudder of pleasure race through the older man, and it gave him an idea.

"Keep doing that," Reese said. "See if you can make yourself come." He sat back, one hand absently stroking his own cock, and laughed at the dubious look Finch gave him.

"If I had known I would have to do this myself..." He didn't stop trying through. Soon, he was clenching both cheeks, little gasps and whimpers filling the quiet apartment as he lifted his ass off the bed, thrusting into the empty air, the motion making the last three beads bounce up and down. "Oh, fuck...oh, fuck... _come on_ ," he gritted through his teeth before collapsing back onto the bed, his legs shaking from his exertion. "I can't. John, please - I can't."

"All right," Reese said, sitting back up. He squirted another dollop of lube into his palm, then wrapped his hand around Finch's cock, spreading the lube with slow, calculated movements. Finch made a frustrated noise and jerked his hips, trying to fuck Reese's fist, but Reese just pulled away. "Not yet. Patience, my little bird." He began to stroke him again, and Finch managed to stay still, although he was a mewling, quivering pile of aching need by the time Reese began to play with the beads sticking out of his ass. Tugging gently, Reese watched him shudder and twitch. He moaned as Reese pulled steadily, withdrawing three beads one after another, and cried out as Reese pushed them back in.

"Oh, John! Fuck me, please!"

Reese shuddered, pre-come bubbling from his cock, and it took a monumental force of will not to give in to Finch's demands. Reese knew Finch could take it, even if Reese's cock had twice the girth of the beads that Reese was working in and out of Finch's body. The human body was resilient - he'd either stretch now or heal later - but Reese wasn't willing to risk what they had, not for a few short minutes of complete bliss, not if there was a chance that Finch would regret it afterward. When the time came to make love, Reese wanted it to be a mutual decision made beforehand, not him giving in to the desperate pleas of a man driven half out of his mind with pleasure.

"Next time," he promised, for once glad that he was ambidextrous for a reason that had nothing to do with guns. One hand pumped Finch's cock, feeling it strain and jerk as the other fucked him with the toy, the beads rubbing against his prostate as his body tensed with every wave of ecstasy.

"Oh, oh, _oh!_ I'm - I'm-" He cried out wordlessly as his heels dug into the bed, lifting his ass off the mattress as he spilled himself onto the towel draped over his stomach. Reese pulled the beads out in one slow, continuous motion, stimulating Finch's clenched opening as thick strings of white striped the towel. He didn't stop stroking Finch's cock until he gave one last convulsive shudder and collapsed bonelessly back against the mattress, his whole body shaking as he gasped for breath. Reese smiled at the dazed expression on Finch's face, and then began cleaning up, gathering up the towel and wiping the last dribbles from Finch's softening cock. He folded the beads inside and set it out of the way. If Finch was willing, they'd have one more mess to clean up.

"How're you doing, Harold?" he asked after a minute. "I didn't kill you, did I?"

Finch gave a faint, breathless chuckle. "I'm not entirely certain. It's possible that I may have died and gone to heaven."

"I'm pretty sure there's no gay sex in heaven," Reese said with a crooked grin.

"Well, there should be," Finch said. "That was divine."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Reese said. "An artist likes to know that his efforts are appreciated. But there's just one more little thing. Well, not so little actually." He stroked his aching cock as Finch shifted enough to look at him.

"Oh, John - I'm sorry, I completely forgot. What can I do?"

"Can you turn over, lie on your stomach?"

"I think so. Why-" He stopped, his gaze dropping to Reese's cock, and he swallowed hard. "Y- yes, I can do that."

It was gratifying that Finch was so willing to allow Reese to do something that he was clearly uneasy about. Reese reached out, putting a hand on Finch's hip as he started to roll over.

"Wait," he said, taking Finch's hand. "Sit up for a minute." He helped Finch up, then began working his hands under the white silk camisole. "Not that I don't like it when you dress up, but right now I want to feel your skin against mine," he said, peeling the slinky top up and off over Finch's head. He tossed it aside and slid his hands over Finch's chest, running his fingers through the soft mat of curly hair, gripping and kneading the flesh as he moved down Finch's body. He slid garter and stocking down each leg, taking a moment to caress Finch's smooth calves, making the man groan softly.

"Uh ho," Reese said when he reached Finch's feet. "Looks like those shoes messed up your toenails a little." There were a few small marks in the dark polish, hardly noticeable. "Well, I suppose you'll take it off in the morning anyway. All right, now turn over."

He helped Finch move the pillows out of the way, Finch resting the side of his face against one bent arm, much the way Reese had caught him sleeping at his computer so many months ago. Had it really been over a year? It didn't seem possible. He remembered meeting the quiet, enigmatic man like it was yesterday.

"Are you comfortable?" Reese asked, one hand gliding from Finch's shoulder down to the mound of his ass.

"Fairly. I'm not in pain, if that's what you're asking."

"That's good," Reese said, patting the rounded cheek before rising to his knees and swinging a leg over Finch, straddling his thighs. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you."

"I know," Finch said, but there was a tremor in his voice.

Reese leaned down and kissed the back of his neck, over the surgical scar. "Do you trust me, Harold?"

"Yes," Finch answered immediately.

"Then relax. I'm not going to enter you. We're not ready for that yet."

"You...you can if you want to," Finch said quietly. "I think I can handle it."

"I think so, too," Reese said, "but I want to be sure. Next time." He placed a line of soft kisses down Finch's spine, to between his shoulder blades. "Now, you'll tell me if anything I do is uncomfortable or painful, won't you?"

"All right. What are you going to do?"

"Think of this as a test-run for the real thing," Reese said with a small smile. "I want to know how much of my weight you can take."

"But how is that going to...satisfy you?"

"You'll see." He kissed Finch's shoulder, then reached down, working his fingers in between Finch's cheeks and teasing his opening, which was still relaxed and slippery with lube. Finch made a muffled noise and tried to push back against him, but Reese just stroked the small of his back with the other hand and began to smear the lubricant along the crack of Finch's ass. It was starting to get sticky, as water-based lubricants did after a while, but it would work well enough for what Reese had in mind.

Stretching out, Reese braced his forearms on either side of Finch's body, lowering himself onto the smaller man until he lay draped over him like a blanket. "Is this okay? I'm not too heavy?"

"No, you're fine," Finch said. "It actually feels good to have you on top of me. I didn't expect that."

"I'm glad," Reese said, nuzzling the crook of Finch's neck. He began mouthing the soft skin, taking deep, noisy breaths as he inhaled Finch's scent, his hips rocking as he pressed his groin more firmly against Finch's ass, his cock sliding along the slick valley. Finch groaned, his legs shifting as he pushed back against him, giving him more purchase. Trusting Finch to tell him if he got too rough, Reese began to thrust, rutting against Finch, the delicious friction making him gasp and groan into the side of Finch's neck.

"That's it, John," Finch murmured. "Come on - harder; you're not going to hurt me."

Shoving his arms beneath Finch's chest, Reese clung to him, squeezing his eyes shut as the pressure inside him built, the shuddering pleasure rolling through his body.

"Oh, Harold," he moaned, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into Finch's soft flesh, but Finch didn't tell him to go easy. He could feel himself nearing the brink, his muscles tensing, his movements growing quick and desperate. "Oh, God, Harold!"

"I love you, John."

Reese gasped, his chest constricting at Finch's quiet declaration. Then it felt like he'd been dipped into melted chocolate, a slow warmth creeping over him, and he cried out as he came, remembering at the last minute to turn his head so he didn't shout in Finch's ear. He bucked, his cock sliding along the crack of Finch's ass, now well-lubed with his seed, his hips continuing to rock long after he'd stopped coming. He just didn't want it to end.

Finally, the friction grew to be too much against his overstimulated flesh and he came to a shuddering halt, turning his head back to nuzzle and kiss Finch's shoulder. "I love you, too," he murmured into the crook of Finch's neck. He didn't have to ask if Finch had meant what he said; he knew Finch would never lie to him, would never say it if he wasn't sure it was true.

"I know," Finch said. "My neck is starting to ache, though, and-"

Reese lifted himself off of the smaller man and flopped down beside him, lying on his back to keep from soiling the sheets. "And what?"

"And I think I need a shower."

Glancing down at the thick smears of white at the small of Finch's back, Reese couldn't help the lazy smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, we did make kind of a mess, didn't we?" He forced himself to sit up and grab the towel, turning it until he found a clean end to wipe most of the semen and lube off of Finch's skin. "You can shower first."

"Thank you," Finch said, climbing slowly off the bed. Reese wasn't sure if he was stiff, or weakened from all the unusual activity. Reese didn't even bother trying to stand yet; his knees felt like rubber, his whole body tingling.

"Do you need any help washing your back?" Reese asked playfully as Finch limped toward the bathroom. The older man stopped, standing there for a moment before turning back around.

"Not this time, John," he said. "I think I need a few minutes to myself. Just to...think."

"All right," Reese said. "Take all the time you need. But don't use all the hot water," he added with a smile. Finch smiled back and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Reese stared at the closed door for a moment, then sighed. He could think of worst things than giving Finch time to _think_ , but most of them involved violent injury or debilitating illness. Hopefully, he wouldn't _think_ himself into a guilt induced panic attack.

The muffled sound of a phone ringing drew him out of his own thoughts and he reluctantly rose to his feet, his legs wobbling slightly as he followed the sound to where he'd dropped his trousers. He pulled the cell out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. Why would Carter be calling him at a quarter to midnight?

"Good evening, Detective," he said in his typical smooth, disarming voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Care to explain to me why Fusco thinks you and I got busy last night?"

Reese closed his eyes. _Oh, God; he didn't._ "I think Fusco must have misunderstood the conversation we had this morning."

"Well he better have," Carter said, an edge to her tone. "I don't need you spreading rumors to my partner that I'm shacking up with some vigilante killer. You're not my type, John."

"O- okay, Joss," Reese said, fighting hard not to laugh. It wasn't funny. "Do me a favor and tell Fusco that I made the call and it all worked out."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just tell Fusco, all right, Carter? He'll understand and he can explain it to you. I have to go; I'm with someone."

"With someone-"

Reese pressed the button ending the call. Carter made for a nice, dependable ally, but sometimes her questions were just exhausting. He could still hear the shower running, so he made himself useful and finished cleaning up the bed, turning down the blankets, and gathering up their clothes that had been scattered about the apartment. He was standing beside the bed, holding Finch's panties in his hands and running his fingers over the cool silk when the bathroom door finally opened.

"It's all yours, Mr. Reese," Finch said, limping out in the burgundy bathrobe Reese had bought for him, his suede satchel in one hand and his suit neatly draped over his arm. "I hope there's plenty of hot water left. I tried to be quick."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Harold," Reese said, walking over and handing him his underwear. Finch blushed as he took them and tucked them away in his satchel. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge; I'll be back in a few minutes."

"All right," Finch said, his attention on his clothes as he draped the suit over the back of one of Reese's chairs, fussing with the fold of his trousers so they wouldn't crease crooked. Reese headed for the bathroom, but something made him stop and glance back, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to shrug it off and started walking again.

"John?" Finch said, and he turned back. "Thank you." There was something very raw and vulnerable in his eyes, and Reese couldn't help but feel that this was a very deep and all-encompassing thank you - thanks for his work, his dedication, his friendship, his love, his patience, his tenderness.

He smiled in spite of the bleak certainty that settled over him. "You're welcome, Harold." He went into the bathroom and shut the door, the air warm and damp, the shower head still dripping as he stepped into the enclosure. As he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature, he tried not to think about Finch getting dressed in the other room, even though that was surely what he was doing. He would be gone when Reese came back out, but Reese didn't try to hurry, didn't try to get done before he could leave. This was just how it had to be, at least for now. Reese didn't particularly like it, but that was what Finch needed, and he could respect that.

Reese finished washing up and climbed out, drying off before wrapping the damp towel around his waist. Taking a bracing breath, he turned out the light, opened the door, and stepped out into the silent, empty apartment. He glanced around and let slip the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ignoring the hollow pain in his chest, he crossed to the door and locked it before turning out the lights and going to bed.

  
~  
*  
~  
*  
~  
*  
~

Determined not to make Finch feel uncomfortable about what they had done, or the fact that he'd snuck out without even saying goodnight, Reese entered the library with a peace offering of green tea and donuts. His steps were easy and fluid as he climbed the stairs and sauntered down the hall, but inside he was tied in knots, the worry eating at him. Would Finch even be there? Would he speak to him? Had Reese ruined everything?

"Morning, Finch," Reese said, managing to keep his relief from affecting the air of casual professionalism he'd decided on. "Do we have a new number yet?"

Finch glanced up as Reese set the tea and box of pastries down on the table beside his keyboard. For a moment, it seemed there was something searching in his gaze, but then it was gone.

"Just came in early this morning," Finch said, levering himself out of his chair and limping over to the printer. His limp was noticeably more pronounced this morning, and on his chair sat the cushion that Reese had never used. Reese felt terrible. He opened his mouth and took a breath to apologize, but Finch turned back around, pictures in hand.

"Her name is Sasha Baker, twenty-six years old, college student at NYU. She's about to graduate with a degree in elementary education, probably at about the worst possible time to be a teacher. It's appalling that the moment there's a shortfall in the budget, education is the first sacrifice they make. It's no wonder this country has so many problems."

Reese just listened, watching him tape the young woman's picture to the board, unable to fight down the feeling of disappointment, even though he was damn sure not to let it show. Business as usual was not what he wanted. A long, slow good morning kiss would have been closer, but just an acknowledgement of the glorious moments they had shared would have been nice.

"Are you listening to me, Mr. Reese?" Finch asked and Reese snapped out of his self-pitying reverie.

"Sorry, Finch," he said. "My mind wandered for a moment. Please, continue."

Finch regarded him, then turned back to the board, taping up two more photos, one of an older woman who appeared to be in poor health, her skin dull and papery, her hair thin and lank, and the other of a young man with gang tattoos on his arms and chest.

"I'm still wearing the nail polish," Finch said suddenly, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the cracked pane of glass. "I went to take it off this morning and...I didn't want to. So I didn't." After a moment, he turned stiffly to look at Reese.

Reese smiled, relief washing over him. "Same here," he said. He took a step toward Finch, stopping as the smaller man tensed, his eyes darting around, as though afraid they might be seen. "I think we're alone, Harold," Reese teased. "And I promise, I'm not going to turn the library into a love nest, I just need this right now." He finished closing the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Finch, and kissed him. Finch stood stiff against him for a moment, then melted into his arms, returning the embrace and the kiss, a soft groan escaping him as Reese slipped his tongue past Finch's lips, tasting green tea.

He drew back and licked his lips. "Maybe I should give that tea a try," he said with a grin. "It's pretty good."

Finch rolled his eyes and turned away, but not quickly enough to hide the broad smile that lit up his face. "Are you ready to get back to work now, Mr. Reese?"

"I believe I am, Mr. Finch," Reese replied, turning his attention to the board.


End file.
